


resident tech guy

by kristyn



Series: transstuck [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Aromantic Character, M/M, Trans Dave, Trans Male Character, aro john
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-29
Updated: 2015-01-29
Packaged: 2018-03-09 13:35:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3251687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kristyn/pseuds/kristyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>trans tech guy trips and falls in love w/ the new kid, who happens to be aromantic. hilarity ensues, maybe</p>
            </blockquote>





	resident tech guy

**Author's Note:**

> bro idek i wrote this almost a year ago and now it's finally seeing the light of day, ive only got 2 chapters of this so far maybe i'll write more, i dont rly ship johndave anymore so idk idk idk idk

Your name is Dave Strider and once again, you find yourself eating lunch at the back of the auditorium.

It never bothered you as a freshman, and you sure as hell don’t care this year either. You talk big on the internet, but IRL, you’re rather shy and reserved. You much prefer the quiet of the auditorium, where nothing keeps you company but your own beats, which you mix with the sound system kept tucked away in the auditorium’s tech booth. You are totally allowed to touch this stuff, as you’ve been the sound crew chair for the past five productions.

Occasionally, you’re visited by fellow members of the drama club, who sometimes have lunch in the auditorium. They keep their distance, usually, opting for sitting at the other end of the cavernous room, on the stage. They wave and ask you what’s up, what are you eating, what’s the latest jams, Strider? And you keep up the banter, and that’s usually that.

Today is a more typical day, one that consists of you mixing an ill beat with a peanut butter sandwich in your left hand. Your shades make the already dim room even dimmer, but you wouldn’t ever take them off, even while alone. You have an appearance to keep up, even to yourself. Plus, you wouldn’t want anyone walking in and seeing your mutant red eyes. The last time the shades came off during school, you got into a heated argument with your biology teacher about the legitimacy of your eye color. He claimed you were seeking attention by wearing red contacts. Ever since then, you don’t take the shades off until you go to bed.

Terezi, the drama club’s vice president, stops by for a bit to remind you of the band concert happening soon.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” you say back, not bothering to take off your headphones or even look up at her. “Their shit’s been in here since Monday.”

“Alright, Coolkid, I figured I’d let you know since you spend all your study halls in here, too. I’m pretty sure the jazz band is meeting here today during your sixth period study.”

You knew that, too. Your good friend, Jade, plays the bass in the jazz band. Every time you two talk, she has a new story to share. You think it’d be nice to finally watch her in action.

“Tha’s fine. I don’t mind. I can do lights for the concert, if they want me to.”

“They were probably gonna ask you anyway.”

That’s you. Resident go-to tech guy.

Terezi steals a sip of your AJ before leaving again.

You turn your beats up and pop a couple pretzels in your mouth. So far, you’d only seen the choir practice, and since none of your friends sang in the choir you didn’t particularly care.

 The stage is still set up from their practice, with the black and gray risers slightly shoved to the side from where you and your friends moved them for drama rehearsal yesterday. Without permission, of course. All part of the ongoing struggle of the music department versus the theater department. The silent struggle is hilariously passive aggressive and you do your best to ironically involve yourself in it whenever you can. Like when you do favors for the music director, like being Resident Tech Guy for their concerts.

As a particularly bedridden beat is created under your fingertips, you shut your eyes and bob your head to your homemade synthetic track for a moment, enjoying the sensation of too-loud music against your ears.

With your senses momentarily impaired, you’ve let your guard down. A finger taps your shoulder, and you jump, knocking your headphones off and sending your pretzels falling to the ground. Dirk would be disappointed at your pathetic display.

You lament your fallen salty brethren for a moment before realizing there’s a person before you. You look up.

“Uh, hey! Haha, sorry about that. I didn’t think you’d flip out like that.”

You frown. Standing in front of you is a tall skinny boy with messy, dark brown hair curling around square frames sitting crookedly on his nose. He wears an oversized blue sweatshirt and jeans and you wonder who the hell he is. The only people who visit the auditorium are people who are in the drama club, and, during concert week, people from music classes.

As Resident Tech Guy and Unofficial Auditorium Guardian, it’s your casual responsibility to know the name and face of anyone who steps through these doors. And you’ve never seen this buck-toothed face before.

You assert dominance by standing up from your swivel chair. _Damn_. He’s taller than you. This doesn’t surprise you. Most guys are taller than you.

“Who are you?” you ask as aloof as possible. You realize you probably looked silly just now, standing up all indignant. You brush off your move by leaning down and picking up your pretzels. The five second rule has long since ceased being in effect. The boy jumps down to help you.

“My name is John. John Egbert. I’m pretty new here. Like, today is my first day. Well, I was asking around about how to join the jazz band, since I heard they needed a piano player.”

“Their concert’s in like, two days, dude.” You dump a handful of pretzels back in the little Snyder’s bag. John leans over and does the same.

“And that’s what I heard! I was told the music director could talk to me about auditioning for next quarter? You’re not him, are you? Well,” he laughs, “at least I don’t think you are. You just look like a regular old guy. Well, you don’t look old, is what I’m saying.”

Something in your stomach flips. You raise an eyebrow, which you realize he may not see on account of your shades.

“I look like a regular guy?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Slick ain’t here.”

“Who--”

“The music director. Tha’s who you wanted right?”

“Yeah.”

“Should be in the faculty lounge. Just wait around for him. Sixth period he’ll be here. With the jazz band, too.”

He cocks his head. “It sounds like you have an accent. Where are you from?”

Before you can answer, he hits his head. “Where are my manners! I don’t even know your name.”

“Dave Strider.”

“Straaaahder.”

“You makin’ fun a me?”

He giggles. _That was cute. Shit._ “Nah, dude, I just like the way you say it.”

“I’m from Texas. Moved here at the start of middle school.”

“Cool! I’m from Washington. Moved here yesterday.”

“Hope you like it here, I guess. Nothin’ to sniff at, though.”

You realize the pretzels are all picked up. You stand, and he follows suit.

“Sorry about the pretzels.”

“I give less than a shit, dude.”

He laughs. “Do you have a chumhandle?”

“O’ course.”

He pulls out a piece of paper from his backpack and rips it in half, giving one piece to you.

Once you’ve exchanged pesterchum info, he waves and he’s on his way. You huff a sigh and plop back down on your swivel chair, fixing your headphones and getting back down to business. You are Resident Tech Guy, Auditorium Guardian, and now you are Regular Old Guy. Despite yourself, you half-smile as you turn up your music.

  



End file.
